


Alone Together

by CurufinweAtarinke



Series: Sad Bards Anonymous [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Daeron as Elu Thingol’s Son, Domesticity, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, just a warning on that, mentions of technically canon unrequited incestuous feelings, no one can be angsty forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 00:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19188436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CurufinweAtarinke/pseuds/CurufinweAtarinke
Summary: Daeron chases Maglor, until he lets him catch him.(Maglor and Daeron, in the modern era)





	Alone Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is my most self-indulgent fic. Hopefully other people enjoy it too!

They meet more than once over the interim millennia between the first and seventh age, but it’s not until the late-1990s that Daeron plops down next to Maglor on a windswept beach somewhere on the Pacific Northwest and says, “Right, we’re doing this.”

There’s not many elves left, at this point. Daeron can count the ones he knows about on one hand, probably, and none of them really want anything to do with him. He’s used to it. Those who know the tale of Lúthien and Beren (meaning, mostly everyone) think of him as either some minor villain getting between True Love or someone who won’t take no for an answer, and they treat him with a certain peculiarity after finding out who he is.

It doesn’t usually improve when it comes out that he’s _also_ Elu Thingol’s child, from Cuivienen. Most people find that more than a little creepy. Daeron himself admits that they’re probably right.

So, he seeks out the _other_ untouchable elf. Many would question his sanity in searching for one of the primary slaughterers of his kin, but it has been thousands of years since, and Daeron had left Doriath long before the Fëanorians arrived. And he is lonely. More than that, it is also a professional curiosity. Never has he met an elf so able to not only approach his skill as a bard, but match it. They have sang together only once, at the Mereth Aderthad, but it was enough to set Daeron’s romantic heart aflame in a way that only one other ever has.

Maglor is closed off, and Daeron almost relishes the challenge at first. He’s nothing if not persistent - his suit of Lúthien more than proves that. They met in Harad, in Rhûn, back in the ages of Middle Earth. Maglor apparently has a horrendous sense of direction, and no actual purpose in his wanderings.

It’s hard. After the loss of his brothers, Maglor has little desire to befriend anyone, especially a _Sinda._ Daeron attempted to visit his great-something-nephew, in the hopes that _that_ might open up a door of some kind, but all Elrond did was shrug and say that Maglor has not seen him in a very long time.

Daeron tried not to be offended by how Elrond deliberately kept him away from his daughter, whose fabled beauty was said to match Lúthien’s. All his accomplishments, and this is what he’s known for.

He almost laughed himself sick when he heard of Arwen’s marriage to the King of Gondor. Sometimes, history truly does seem to repeat itself.

They passed into the Age of Men, and the world changed. Everything seemed to begin anew, somehow. He and Maglor met in China, in Mesopotamia, in Egypt. In Greece, in Persia. They had nearly a year together in Rome, and Daeron almost thought he’d cracked Maglor’s insanely tough carapace before he left one day without a word.

They continue like this until Daeron finds him on that beach, in 1998.

“What are you running from me for?” he asks, as the wind tangles his hair and sand gets into his trousers.

Maglor thinks for a moment, then grins, unexpectedly. “Isn’t the thrill of the chase part of the appeal to you?”

Daeron finds himself grinning back. “Probably,” he admits. “But I think I’m ready to try catching you now.”

Maglor raises an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m ready to be caught?”

Daeron takes his chance and leans to kiss him, and is gratified when Maglor kisses back.

“I’d say so,” he replies happily, when they break apart.

“What shall we do now then?” Maglor asks. “You seem to be full of plans.”

“I don’t know,” says Daeron. “Let’s see what the world of Men has to offer.”

-

They end up living together in a ratty apartment in a big city somewhere on the coast of the western Americas - Daeron is still getting his head around modern place names and geography. Maglor likes to live near the sea or the ocean no matter what country they’re in.

This modern world is a strange one. It is past the millennium by the time they settle in, but eventually they manage something like stability. It’s still possible to make money in the traditional minstrel fashion, so the pair of them take to playing in bars and coffee shops to finance their life.

Daeron finds himself happier than he thought he could be. He and Maglor fight, because of course they do. Both of them have what could be termed as dramatic personalities. It never lasts long, though, and usually one of them returns with takeout or other food as an apology.

Maglor cuts his hair to shoulder length, but Daeron keeps his long. He follows trends he sees, later on, and dyes his pale silver hair in various pastel shades, the colours changing every month or so. The colours take well because his hair is so light, and Maglor is burningly jealous. His hair is far too dark to hold colour without serious bleaching, but he loves to braid Daeron’s hair, running his fingers down the pastel greens and blues.

Daeron supposes they look “alternate”. Maglor wears the piercings and jewellery he always has, and has more than a few visible scars from centuries of battle and then millennia of wandering. Daeron dyes his hair and still has tattoos that were inked into his skin in Cuivienen. It seems to work well with their music, and soon more and more people turn out whenever one or both of them are playing.

“You don’t like me because I look like her, do you?” Maglor asks one night, in a rare moment of weakness.

Daeron is blindsided, and says without even thinking, “Don’t flatter yourself.” When Maglor laughs in surprise and delight at Daeron’s unexpected reply (he does so enjoy Daeron’s occasional flashes of biting wit), Daeron knows he’s said the right thing.

Later, he thinks on it more. In truth, the only similarities between Maglor and Lúthien are their dark hair. They are nothing alike in terms of personality. Even their body types are completely different. Maglor is all hard edges and ropey battle scars. Lúthien wasn’t _soft_ but when Daeron knew and loved her she was a princess still, beloved and pampered. He adored her steel core he knew lurked beneath the silk, but she was not as hardened as Maglor. Also, she was far taller than Maglor, but Maglor is on the smaller side for an elf. Daeron has a full head of height above him, and he towers above the Men of this age. Maglor’s skin is darker than hers was, too, and his eyes shine with the Light of Valinor.

No, they are nothing alike.

-

It is spring when Maglor gets discovered. Technically Daeron is singing at the same time, and the excited man wants them _both_ , but Daeron isn’t interested in fame like this for several reasons. The first, and most important one, is that Maglor can be very envious over attention, and Daeron doesn’t really need it. The second is that he’s always delighted most in singing for the one he loves, and he’s glad to make that _special_ again.

Of course, when Maglor questions him he doesn’t say either of these reasons. Instead, grinning, he says, “I wouldn’t want to upstage you.”

Maglor’s expression is worth the smack he gets.

Daeron helps songwrite, though. The pair of them love working together like this. There has never been one to match them but each other, and they delight in taking themselves to greater heights through cooperation. Maglor works on vocals, which are his strength, and Daeron takes great joy in discovering how the new technology of Men can change and make songs so _interesting._

The music industry is tough, everyone says this, but their rise is meteoric. Maglor has the looks for it, apparently, and his voice is undeniably incredible. And with Daeron helping write the songs, it’s almost too easy.

Maglor’s interview technique probably doesn’t help in terms of grabbing perhaps too much interest. The way of passing unnoticed in the age of social media and the internet seems to be to draw attention to certain things. So, the pair of them decide to play into it.

In Maglor’s very first proper interview, the interviewer asks him about his _interesting ear prosthetics,_ and if they’re part of a costume. Maglor replies that of course they’re actually real, and that he is an immortal elf-bard. Public interest triples but literally everyone writes it off as a fun idea for an artist aesthetic.

Soon, they have more than enough money to move further south, to a house on a warm beach in a nice neighbourhood. Daeron misses their old apartment a little, but Maglor returning to him happy, even more sun-kissed and covered in salt-spray and sand, makes the move worth it.

Their fame only grows. Maglor takes the lead, as expected. Such a long time wandering may have dulled his commanding presence a little, but he soon falls back into it, and basks in being able to make a stadium of people sit up and take notice. But Maglor makes it clear that they are _partners_ in this, despite only one voice singing, that these are _their_ songs he is singing.

They became practiced at toning down the power in their voices, when busking for those interim years, but their music is still magical in some way, and so many people have said that their songs make them feel some kind of emotion that they have never felt from music before. Daeron considers it a victory - people still take music and song for granted, it seems, and while he is less so than Maglor, he’s still egotistical enough to enjoy that people are getting something from _their_ music that they get nowhere else.

-

It’s not an ending. One day, they will likely need to fade into obscurity once more, and begin anew. But it is happier than Daeron ever saw himself being.

**Author's Note:**

> Broke: weepy angsty bards  
> Woke: moving on as people after 524113651 years  
> Bespoke: basing character personalities on my budgies who are named for them
> 
> There will be sequels to this, I don’t care whether anyone wants them
> 
> If you like this, check out my blog at curufins-smile.tumblr.com
> 
> cute bardbirds named after these losers can be seen here: https://curufins-smile.tumblr.com/post/180113043801/in-case-anyone-is-wondering-maglor-and-daeron-are


End file.
